Bluefish (9 page)

"I'm not cool," Travis said.

"Yes, you are. Even Chad Cormick thinks you're cool."

"He does?"

"Yup. He said so. He said, 'That Roberts kid is one coolio moolio.' And Reed said maybe you're the Master Chief on a time- regression mission."

"The master who?"

"The Master Chief. He kicked butt way before he got Cortana and MJOLNIR

armor. Hey, you know that picnic table by the bridge? Are there some guys there every afternoon?"

"Sometimes," said Travis. "Why?"

"No reason." Bradley kicked the dirt so the merry-go- round started to roll. "So you think I should just tell Velveeta she got it wrong? Or should I not sit by you anymore?"

"I think you should do what you want." Travis grabbed his backpack as he stood. "I gotta go."

"See you tomorrow," said Bradley.

Travis walked slowly through town. So Velveeta got Bradley all wrong. And he got Velveeta wrong. The

picnic- table guys hooted and whistled when he walked across the bridge.

Travis glanced over at them. Maybe everybody got everybody wrong.

He walked into the house with no Rosco and opened the refrigerator. Sitting on the top shelf, smack in the center, was a twelve- pack of cans, and they weren't Coke.

"Huh." His stomach landed somewhere close to his knees. "So much for that."

He took the fox book out on the back stoop. A moody wind thrashed through the yard. He had just finished erasing the circles around the five words on the first two pages when Grandpa slammed the front door.

"You home?"

"Out here," said Travis.

"How's things?" Grandpa stepped onto the porch. He cracked open a can and tried to light up. The wind blew out the flame, and he had to set the can down and use both hands, making a wind shield. "Learn anything new today?"

"So much for your thirty days, huh?" Travis pointed at the can.

"O'Doul' s - nonalcoholic beer," said Grandpa. "See, it says right here."

He put his finger under the tiny- print words.

"Anyway, since when do you care?" He took a deep drag of his cigarette. "It's not easy, you know," he said, the smoke streaming out with his words. "This sobriety thing. I could use a little support."

"What's so hard about it? Just don't drink the stuff."

Grandpa slammed the can on the concrete step, and liquid fizzed up and over.

Alcoholic or not, it sure smelled like beer.

"That easy, huh? Is that what you think?"

Grandpa poked him in the shoulder, and Travis moved away. Grandpa reached over and poked again.

Like he used to do when Travis was little and didn't want to go to school.

"Don't you crawl off in a corner and cry!" he used to yell. "If you're mad, get out here and make some fists."

And he'd keep poking until Travis slapped his hand away. Then he'd laugh and poke again. The poking went on until Travis made real fists and swung hard.

Then

Grandpa would put up his palms and get Travis to slug them over and over, hard enough to make solid smacks.

After that, he'd sling an arm around Travis's neck, and the three of them -

Travis, Grandpa, and Rosco - would go out to the swamp. That was a long, long time ago.

"You think you got it so bad," said Grandpa. " Boo- hoo, poor Travis."

He poked again. Travis clenched his teeth hard. He picked up the book and stepped around Grandpa.

"I've got homework."

He slammed the screen door on his way through, went into his tiny box of a bedroom, and shut the door. He circled words in chapter two until Grandpa went to bed.

Then he made himself a piece of cheese toast for dinner.

on THURSDAY

I can't believe Travis thought I was lying about thinking it's cool that he's learning to read. I wouldn't lie about something like that. Not ever. So that's his secret, not dying of leukemia. I want us to be friends like Liesel and Rudy in The Book Thief, only now I'm not sure if we get to be any kind of friends at all.

He didn't want his secret busted. I should have kept my mouth shut. I still can't believe he thought I was lying, though. Ouch.

Later -

The madre came banging on the door while I was writing and just about scared me out of my skin. I didn't let her in, but I went back over to our place with her because she was crying. She said I'd rather spend my time in an empty trailer where an old man died than be with my own flesh and blood, and why am I so mean to her? I hate it when she's like that.

It makes me feel so bad. She asked me to stay home from school tomorrow and hang out with her.

How did I ever get to school in the first place? Somebody must have made me go to kindergarten the first time, right? Or did I just wake up one morning and say, "Hey, Ma, I'm five. Guess it's time for me to go to school."?

I don't remember that.

I remember the first time I came to your trailer, though.

You gave me a cookie. How old was I? I think I was in first grade. I couldn't read yet, because I remember you reading to me.

I also remember when you bought me a toothbrush.

And I remember you drilling me on the multiplication tables and spelling words. Good thing you weren't some old perv or something, because it's not like anyone was making sure you weren't. The madre did call you a perv once -

I never told you that, but she did. I hit her in the face, and whoa, she yanked my hair and smacked me a good one. Didn't know that, did you?

Calvin. Do you think you could come back and haunt this place, just a little bit? Please?

Friday morning, Travis closed his eyes as McQueen read from the fox book. The story took him away from school, from Grandpa, from Velveeta's hurt eyes, and from the hard work of learning word by word. He didn't believe he would ever be able to read smoothly like that, but he had learned five words. He knew them now, for sure. Five words wasn't a lot, but it was five more than he knew last week.

When McQueen finished reading, he wrote something down.

"What's this word?" He flipped the paper around so Travis could see.

"Night," said Travis immediately. That had been on his list.

"Th is one?"

Tight. A smile started somewhere in Travis's gut and spread over his whole body.

"Tight?"

McQueen grinned. "This one?"

"Lil. Light."

Travis whipped through the new list, six words.

"Why isn't bite on here?"

"Brilliant question," said McQueen. "It's not here because the English language is filled with sink holes and blind traps. Stick with these six for the weekend, and we'll tackle bite later. I've got something else for you to think about, too."

"What?" Travis took the book back.

"It's time for you to start dealing with your other classes. Ms. Gordon can set you up to use the Kurzweil in the library while everyone else is reading."

"The what?"

"It's assistive technology. Reads the textbook out loud to you and highlights the words so you can follow along.

It'll help you with writing, too."

"A special-ed thing," said Travis.

"Yes, and why are you making that face? I don't know if you qualify or not, but you need extra help. All you have to do is ask, and you'll get it."

Travis's third- grade teacher had tried to get him into special ed. She made Grandpa come to school for a meeting, and he came home mad. He said Travis had better get it together and pay attention. Nobody said anything about special ed after that, but he had to go to lipsticky Mrs.

Keatley three days a week. Everybody knew what that meant.

Travis wasn't going to ask Ms. Gordon for the Kurtz-thing. He might as well put a bluefish sticker on his head.

He got up to leave, but McQueen stopped him on his way out the door.

"Nice job with those words, Mr. Roberts. I'm impressed."

McQueen's words glowed warm around Travis as he headed for his locker. If he worked faster and harder, maybe he could catch up and he wouldn't need any special ed. He just wanted to be regular.

Travis got to first period early and watched the door.

Velveeta came in and didn't say anything, just quietly sat behind him.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey."

She took out a pen and drew tiny tornado spirals on the back of her notebook.

Maybe he should say he was sorry for saying that she lied. But she was the one who said she lied all the time. How was he supposed to know what to believe?

As soon as he faced front, she tapped her pen on the top of his head.

"Just so you know," she whispered, "I don't lie about everything. I was lying when I said that."

As Travis turned to respond, something landed with a light thud on Velveeta's desk, slid across, and dropped to the floor. Travis picked up a papier-mâché spider leg. He threw it to Megan, who was waving from the other side of the room. Another leg flew to the front corner. Jeremy

Matthews was busy in the back, detaching all eight legs from his Paleozoic project and launching them into the air. Another one came to Travis and he caught it and threw it to Chad.

"Are you protecting me from the prehistoric spider legs?" asked Velveeta.

"Kind of." Travis stabbed his arm high to catch the one Chad threw over his head.

"Travis Roberts." Ms. Gordon closed the door as she walked into the room.

"Stop."

She held out her hand for the leg, and he gave it to her. The other legs had all disappeared under desks. Ms.

Gordon dropped the leg into the garbage can and started talking about the next assignment as though nothing had happened.

Velveeta poked Travis in the neck a few times during class, and every poke was a relief. Maybe she really wouldn't tell anyone about the word circling.

"You know I wasn't lying, right?" she said as soon as the bell rang. "About thinking it's cool what you're doing?"

Travis shrugged.

"Because I wasn't. I wouldn't lie about that, not ever.

Sit by me at lunch, right?"

He believed her because of how she'd looked in the hallway the day before. And because he wanted to. He spent the rest of the morning going over his new words and looking forward to lunch.

Bradley came up behind Travis in the lunch line.

"I'm going to do like you said and do what I want.

Even if she decimates me. I mean, what can she do? So she makes me feel stupid - so what? Maybe she'll get everyone in the lunchroom to make fun of me. That wouldn't kill me, right?"

Travis picked up his lunch, quesadillas and beans and rice and a snickerdoodle, without answering. Just like Velveeta, Bradley could have a whole conversation all by himself.

When they got to the table, Velveeta said, "So, Bradley's slumming today.

Eating the school lunch, even."

"You've got it all wrong about me." Bradley set his tray on the table and stood with his arms crossed.

"Oh, really," said Velveeta. The words sounded like a sword sliding out of its sheath. "Tell me, Bradley, what do I have so very wrong?"

"The whole thing about me slumming. That's mean and plus, not true."

"How do I know that?" asked Velveeta.

"Because I said so and I don't lie."

"Never? Never never, you never lie, not once, not ever?"

"No. Look, you don't like me - that's okay - I'll leave, but I didn't want you thinking something wrong about why I wanted to hang out with you."

He picked up his tray and started to walk away.

"Wait, Bradley," Velveeta said. "I don't not like you that much."

Bradley stopped. Velveeta looked at Travis and nodded, as if he'd said something.

"And actually," she said, "I know you weren't lying, okay? Come on. Sit back down."

"So we're clear, then?" Bradley turned to face her. "I didn't mean anything bad, and you know I don't lie, right?"

"Bradley, we're all very crystal- clear. Aren't you clear, Travis?"

"I'm not in this," said Travis as Bradley sat back down.

"Why are you eating a school lunch?" asked Velveeta, who had already finished off most of hers.

"No good leftovers in the house. Besides, I like quesadillas."

"So if you're not slumming for research, then why are you sitting here? You should be over with Reed and Jake, talking about quadratic equations."

"I like you," said Bradley.

"You are officially out of your mind."

"Why? Travis likes you."

"Travis likes me because he's captured by my feminine wiles. He can't take his eyes off me, can you, Travis?

I think we should talk about this every day. Why does everyone like Velveeta?

You can make a list of reasons.

It'll be a fan club."

"Okay." Bradley got up as the bell rang. "I'll be president. Or no, I'll be secretary. I'll make the list."

Travis followed them out of the lunchroom. Bradley could make his own list, and he should sit somewhere else to do it.

Velveeta came up beside Travis as he stepped out the double doors.

"What are you doing now?"

"Going home."

"Come to the library with me."

"Why?" asked Travis.

"Because it's cold outside and warm in the library. Or are you rushing home to paint words on the wall of your basement?"

"We don't have a basement."

"Well, that's what Liesel does in the book."

"On your left!"

Velveeta leaned into Travis, bumping him off the sidewalk as a couple of skaters rattled by.

"If you come to the library with me, maybe I could help you. Like, go over words and stuff ."

Travis shook his head.

"Please?"

"Why would you want to?"

He expected a rapid- fire answer about prostitution or being in love with her or the wrath of Velveeta, but nothing came. When she finally spoke, it was so soft he barely heard.

"Because I want to be part of it." She abruptly turned and walked the other way.

She took big long strides, almost running, her purple- and- blue scarf flowing out behind and catching on the breeze. A few yellow leaves drifted down. He expected her to turn and look at him, but she didn't.